Drums & Helfire
by Warrior-Maid-of-the-Shadows
Summary: The Vanir have never been overly friendly with the Aesir, but there is peace. However, not all are amiable towards each other. When Asgard declares war against Vanaheim, young Prince Odin will learn the devastation of war as his home battles its neighbor. What he didn't expect was to become enchanted with one of the enemy. As he soon finds out, not all is fair in love and war.
1. Prologue

_**So, this is what happens when I'm brainstorming for HeartFrost while my brother watches Disney's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". Personally, the movie has always been one of my favorite of Disney's, but I didn't expect it to lead to this. One second the movie's playing "The Bells of Notre Dame" and the next I'm writing this. I suppose this could be thought off as part of my Renascentia universe, but it can also be read as separate. I will continue this, but it will be rated M for the violence as it tells of what happened during the Aesir-Vanir war. I hope you all enjoy it as I continue with this story alongside HeartFrost.**_

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The deafening silence after the cacophony of battle often brings out the most emotion. While the rage and blood-lust roaring through one's veins may seem overpowering, it is the aftermath which reveals the heart. Men who did not so much as bat an eye as they slayed their foes fell prey to crushing realization once the ringing of metal colliding fell away. It was also the time when the crows came to sing their melody of the dead.

Amidst the ravaged wasteland of a recent battlefield, corpses littered the ground like fallen snow. The few who still lived but lay on death's doorstep cried out for the aid that was not there. As the time continued to drip away, the screams subsided until only the calling of birds echoed through the ashen skies.

Only one of the dying lay silent against the bloodied ground, knowing that no one would answer him should he call. Blood poured from the deep wound across his abdomen, the steel of his breastplate rent apart to reveal the gaping hole. He could not count how many he had felled, but did not see any reason to regret his actions. The gates of Valhalla would open for him and he could think of no more honorable a way to die than in battle for his people.

Unbeknownst of him, an armor-clad figure walked carefully through the labyrinth of the dead. The being held a staff similar to a shepherd's crook, an incense lamp hanging from it. Occasionally, the person would stop at certain corpses, setting them alight with flames it summoned from the lamp. It continued its way through the moors, continuing to burn only a select few of the dead. As it did so, it began to croon a slow song in a language which caused the very air to quiver.

Where the sole living man lay, the music reached his ears. With no strength to cry out for help, he simply remained silent. As he waited, he spotted the soldier gracefully stepping over the bodies. He groaned in discomfort as the being stepped upon his hand, sending small stings of pain into his arm.

The soldier jumped back, exclaiming in surprise in its strange language. As it knelt down to get a closer look, the man noticed it had a rather angular face and wide gray eyes that seemed to shine like starlight. He guessed it was a young boy come to search for survivors. Thin fingers trailed across the edges of his wound, causing him to inhale sharply.

"You are alive," it breathed, taking off its helmet.

Golden whorls fell to the soldier's shoulders, framing the stunning face of what the man realized to be a young woman. She placed her helmet on the ground beside her, next to her staff which stood on its own. He winced weakly as she splayed her fingers across his wound, uttering lilting words that he could not understand. An odd prickling sensation engulfed his torso and when the woman removed her hands, he realized he was healed.

He sat up slowly, testing his strength. Wisps of canary yellow smoke trailed from her fingers, but her kind smile distracted him from the coils.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice weak.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of armored feet racing across the ground caused her to glance over her shoulder in alarm. Grabbing her helmet and staff, she ran away from the sound. The man gazed after her, watching in awe and surprise as her willowy figure disappeared into the mists.

A second later, a new soldier approached. Worry was clear on his face as he stooped to help the man up to his feet.

"Prince Odin, thank the Norns," he gasped. "I feared the worst when you did not return to the base."

The man, Odin, gazed in the direction the mysterious woman had vanished, "Yes, thank the Norns."

The soldier glanced in the direction his Prince looked, "Whatever is the matter, my Prince?"

"I believe I have seen a spirit," he replied.

"What form of spirit?"

"I know not."

It was a lie. He knew exactly what the woman had been, but he could not fathom why she had healed him. She was one of the enemy, why would she not leave him to die? Though she wore the disguise of an Asgardian, he knew the truth as soon as she healed him. He couldn't shake the confusion as the soldier led him from the battlefield.

She had been a Vanir.


	2. Chapter 1

_**So, the first chapter. Just a warning before I begin: the point of view will jump back and forth between Vanaheim and Asgard so we know what's happening on both sides. It will often revolve around Odin and Frigga, but it will occasionally show more random occurrences that don't include the two protagonists. The chapter here will also be shorter than in the Renascentia Trilogy but there will be more of them. As usual, I hope you enjoy the chapter.**_

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**Chapter One**

**Asgard**

**3 Months Prior**

In the pale light of Asgard's two moons, a single woman made her way to the woods. To all who looked upon her, she had the Æsir blonde hair and pale skin. To those with a more practiced eye, she had the two characteristics that marked her for what she truly was: a Vanir. Her eyes were not one of the many shades of blue that were common within Asgard, but a silvery gray native to Vanaheim. On her fingers, several rings of silver, gold and copper adorned her hands.

Travel through the Realms was limited to ships, leaving only the Asgardians and Vanir able to sail through the sea of stars. And so the Vanir woman walked through the trees towards her ship, unaware of what would come. The snap of a footstep upon a twig caused her to jump. Nothing of importance met her eyes but she continued to remain wary lest something did catch her unawares.

Certain she had heard the rustling of leaves, the woman stopped, "Who approaches? I bear no ill will to those who make themselves seen."

She heard one laugh, then another and a new voice joined the two. Soon she was surrounded by the chuckling of several men. A few stepped out of the shadows, revealing the broad figures of grinning men. One stepped closer than the others, running a hand through his corn silk blonde hair.

"Is there something I might aid you with, gentlemen?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

The bravest of the six grinned broadly, "In truth, love, there is indeed something with which we need your aid. Many weeks at sea my men have spent and in such miserable conditions, one begins to crave the comforting embrace of pleasurable company. Spend the night with my men and I, and you shall be repaid greatly."

"I care not for gold nor any other payment you may offer me," she snapped indignantly. "If you will excuse me, I must search for my companion."

As she turned around, a hand grasped her arm tightly.

"Now, now, dear lady, we intend to obtain what we wish for. If such calls for force, so be it."

"Ketiley?" she heard a familiar voice call in the distance. "Ketiley, the night is no time for games!"

The Asgardian saw Ketiley's intention in her eyes and made to silence her, but his actions were too slow.

"ELTOR!" she shrieked, voice echoing through the night.

A hand fell across her cheek, causing her to yelp in surprise. As she fell to the forest floor from the force of the blow, the Asgardian grew closer.

"Ketiley! Where are you?" Eltor's voice rang through the trees, anxiety clear in his words.

Instead of answering, she sent up a flare of her amethyst aura. The light exploded over the group, illuminating the scene in a dull purple light for a mere minute. As she smiled at her work, one of the men pulled her up painfully.

"Sorceress," one of them spat.

She shook her head disdainfully, "Vanir."

Flames leapt into life at her fingertips, causing one of the men to jump back, "I warn you now, leave and no harm will come to you."

"Styrkar" one of them said. "You know the rumors. Let us leave this creature here lest our minds be ripped from us."

"Vanir she may be," the leader, Styrkar, replied. "But she is also a woman. What can one women do when faced with six men?"

To prove his point, he pulled the women toward himself. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so that his lips met hers. She struggled against his hold, conjuring larger flames to her hand before placing it against his face. With a scream of pain, Styrkar leapt back from Ketiley. Against the reddening skin of his burnt face, four wide black marks stood prominently from the scorching metal of her rings.

"Kill her," he snarled in fury.

"Leave her be!" growled a voice.

A tall, lithe man with strawberry blonde hair and the same silver eyes came through the trees, catching one of the men in the back of the head with the metal staff he twirled in his hands.

"How dare you?" Eltor demanded. "How dare you assault a lone woman in the night? Have the Æsir no honor? Leave now and no one else shall be harmed."

"You believe I fear you, _argr-þurs_?" Styrkar asked. "Do you know why your people resort to magic? It is because you are both too weak and too cowardly to fight as men do."

"I warn you now, leave or you will find no comfort in the outcome. Do not challenge us, _aesmens_."

"What did you call us?" one of them demanded.

"It seems the name is more suiting than I believed. The legends must speak the truth then. The minds of the Asgardians are filled with naught but thoughts of bloodshed and steel."

"Enough of this!" one of the Asgardians yelled, charging at the Vanir.

Eltor brought his staff down upon the man, knocking the sword from his hand. With a swift twirl, he landed a blow under his chin. The man stumbled back, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. The rest took the action as a sign to attack, each one drawing their weapons.

Eltor spun around, dodging, ducking and leaping over the swings of swords, axes, and hammers. Ketiley summoned more flames, using the tongues of the white-hot fire to deflect the blows.

"Ketiley, leave now. I will hold them off," he called as he struck one of the men in the chest.

"No," she replied, melting through a hammer.

"It was not a request," he said sharply, knocking an opening between two of the men.

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by her collar and shoved her through. As she stumbled across the ground, the men converged toward Eltor. She fell to the ground as she lost her footing. Turning around to face the men, she screamed out for her friend. The sound of metal upon metal drowned out her cries.

Ketiley could see glimpses of Eltor as the men fought, could see that he was tiring. The sound of his staff hitting the ground caused her blood to run cold. Pushing through the men, she shielded her kneeling companion's body with her own. Just as the sword began to descend, she called out in the language of her people.

"_Potentiam, ostende te nocere volentibus_!"

A blinding light flashed from her, the force of the energy throwing back the men who surrounded them. Their ears rang from the noise of the contained explosion and when they reopened their eyes, Ketiley gaped in horror. All six of the assailants lay motionless, though only three were dead. One hand landed on his hammer, spine broken from the contact. Another sat slumped against one of the trees, his neck hanging at an unnatural angle.

"Ketiley," Eltor said, shaking her shoulder. "We must leave. Come."

She allowed him to drag her to her feet and away from the morbid sight. Before it left her view, Ketiley watched Styrkar sit up painfully. His blue eyes met her silver ones, murderous hot anger simmering away in them. She knew, deep down, the conflict was not over. It had just started.

What had she done?

* * *

Prince Odin, eldest of Borr's three sons, was known throughout the land for his loyalty to Asgard. His strength and respect for the people gained him many revering followers. What no one knew, however, was his nagging confusion when it came to the history of his Realm. There were simply too many blurred aspects that caused him to question the truth of his lessons. But he dared not speak his thoughts aloud for it would be taken as disloyalty.

He had far too much on his shoulders to ever seem uncertain on any aspect of his life. His younger brothers, Vili and Ve, were not expected of so much. But he was to be king, and could not afford to lose the admiration of the people. This did not mean that he agreed with everything, of course. If his father passed a sentence that Odin believed to be unrighteous or cruel, he would speak to Borr in private about the matters. Not that it made a difference, as Borr simply dismissed his beliefs and stated that a king must remain unyielding.

It did not stop Borr from having Odin aid him with reviewing the many papers sent to him, deeming it worthy preparation for when Odin inherited the throne. This meant filing through several drafts of peace treaties, contracts for trade throughout the Realms, requests for recompense and reports from various cities within Asgard's borders. It was tedious work, but it allowed him to voice his opinion to his father without being immediately dismissed.

This was the reason Odin found himself cooped up within his father's study one sunny afternoon, scanning over a few forms before sorting them as either unimportant or worth a look. Most of the time, he simply searched for what he found where key words that pointed towards a matter of importance. If something mentioned murder, magic or a raid or battle of any form, he knew he needed to read through the entirety of the paper. So when he stumbled across a request form mentioning all three, he immediately began at the beginning and read from there.

_My most gracious King,_

_I have never requested anything of you in my life. I have never felt the need to do so. It has always been my utmost belief that you supply every man within Asgard with all that he would ever need. Under your protection, we are safe. However, there is the inescapable moment when a single misdeed will slip unnoticed by your sight._

_I write to you, my King, because I fear something terrible occurred in the still of the night two days ago. Six of my crew and I came to port for respite from the many months we had spent at sea. However, when we made our way to return to our ship, we were assaulted by a witch with silver eyes. She and her sorcerer accomplice struck in the darkness of the night, using their magic to slay three of my finest sailors. The cowards would have slaughtered us all had they not heard men coming to our aid._

_Though the two disappeared into the night, I can give you the names of our aggressors. I request that you release a warrant for their capture so that they may be brought to justice. My only wish is neither for gold nor men to repay my suffering, but to see the heads our assailants mounted on the gates of the port. Mayhap they will serve as a warning to others who believe such actions will go unpunished._

_Your humble citizen and sailor,_

_ Styrkar Olfunson_

Odin reread the letter twice simply to make sure he had understood it correctly. He knew the signs of the Vanir, even if he did not see them for himself. Silver eyes and magic combined was the sure sign of the mysterious race. Despite the stories, he knew that the Vanir never attacked other unless provoked. And yet Styrkar was claiming that he and his men were ambushed.

"Father? I believe you may wish to see this," he said slowly, brushing a strand of blonde hair from his face.

Borr looked up from the papers he held, "What is it this time, Odin? Not another tavern brawl I would hope."

He shook his head, standing up to give the letter to his father, "It is a request for recompense on an ambush."

His father's face fell to concern as he handed the parchment over, "Three men were murdered. The sailor who sent the request claims that he can provide names."

Odin waited as his father read through the letter, brows furrowed in distress at the contents. Once he had finished with reading, he looked up at his son.

"What do you make of this letter?"

"I'm unsure," he replied. "The assailants were no doubt Vanir, but they do not attack men for no particular reason. Even if it was an act of vengeance, never have they taken revenge to such measures. Humiliation is one concept, this is something else entirely."

"And how would you respond to such a letter?"

Odin held his tongue, thinking carefully before he answered, "I believe we should call both parties to court, if possible. Hear both sides of the story and proclaim judgment from there."

Borr smiled slowly, "An excellent choice, my son. You have the makings of a great king."

Odin smiled in return at the rare praise, "I was taught by the greatest."

His father chuckled, "Indeed you were."

"However, on a serious note, do you believe we will be able to find the assailants?"

His father sobered immediately, "The Vanir have an unusual habit of always turning up when summoned. Perhaps it is their love for structure, law and honor. Who is to say what goes on in the minds of those who hide behind magic and false faces? On occasion, I fancy they may be a bit mad."

"Shall I send word to the sailor in reply?"

"No, it is best if he is answered by his king. You have done well tonight, Odin, but it is late and you will need your rest. However, I wish for you to be present during this case. It will set an example for when you are on the throne."

He nodded, "Thank you, Father."

"I will send word to you when I have set a date for the court. For now, enjoy your freedom."

If Odin didn't know any better, he would have guessed that his father was worried. Such an act when Vanaheim had recently received a new king could lead to many unpleasant conclusions. But he had faith in his father, and thought that Borr was simply unsettled by the occurrence. As he walked out the door, he missed the anxiety in his eyes. What had been reported was unprecedented.

In all his years, Borr had never witnessed the Vanir strike another for no reason. Whatever reason had urged the woman and her companion to commit such a crime, it did not bode well for the unstable relationship between Vanaheim and Asgard. Deep down, he feared how the Vanir would react. He had to tread carefully in this case, he knew, for fear he would anger the young King Njord. He was in treacherous waters and could not afford to drown. The fate of the Realms would be decided on whether he succeeded or not. Deep down, he feared for himself.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Sorry about the long wait. I had no idea how to go about this chapter. honestly, I didn't want to reveal Vanaheim before a certain chapter in HeartFrost, but sometimes things like that just happen. Anyway, in regards to the way Njord is acting: this is long before the purging of emotion and his marriage to Van. We're going to see a very different Njord from the one in Renascentia. Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl and IV Lestrange for the reviews.**_

_**I.V. Lestrange: I didn't continue this because I had no clue where to go. I don't mind your questions and I'm glad you've **__**enjoyed it thus far. Truthfully, I'm just ecstatic that you managed to find it buried in the other Thor stories. I hope you find the rest of the chapters equally enjoyable as I have no plans to abandon this story.**_

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**Chapter Two**

**Vanaheim**

In the realm of the Vanir, things were much simpler. Among the rolling green hills of the east, stood a large waterfall pouring into the liquid sapphire ocean that continued on as far as the eye could see. The waterfall itself stretched a couple hundred yards and was only interrupted by the gleaming palace at the edge where the water plunged over the cliffs. Next to the gleaming sea and azure skies, the castle was no less radiant. It gleamed in the sunlight, the rays shining against the gemstones and titanium that created its walls. The castle itself was surrounded by other temples and buildings comprised of the same metals and gems.

In stark contrast to the shining city and vivid landscape, the people who inhabited the realm were tall, dark-skinned beings with shining silver eyes and sharp, angular features. If any Elf, Asgardian, Jotun, or mortal had seen them in their home world, they would have been greatly surprised by this side of the Vanir. Any appearance was possible for their people but when they returned home, they shed the second skin to revert back to their natural form. It was only in Vanaheim that a Vanir felt truly comfortable.

In the labyrinth of streets that made up the city of _Caelum_, two young women walked through the crowds. Both wore the same long skirts, a slit clean-up to mid-thigh on both sides, and halters in a deep black silk. Their hair was tied up in an intricate knot, silver drops and sapphires woven into the strands. Had it not been for the fact that the younger sister had softer features and a shorter face, the two might have been indistinguishable. Both were going to be tested for the same position, as their family had been chosen by the current High Priestess.

"Are you nervous?" the younger asked, glancing at her sister.

"Frigga, one of us will be chosen to become the next High Priestess of _Caelum_, the highest of honors next to the King, Queen, Prince and Princess. It would be foolish not to be nervous," the elder replied.

"Which one of us do you believe she will choose?" Frigga asked, trying to quash the worry she felt by continuing with her questions.

"I cannot speak for the High Priestess or the Wise One!" the sister exclaimed. "She will choose based on the signs the Wise One gives her."

"Forgive my moment of foolishness, Saeunn," Frigga said. "I did not mean to cause you anxiety."

"It is too late to worry for my anxiety," Saeunn muttered, looking up at the silver temple before them. "Here we are."

Though there were many temples throughout the expanse of Vanaheim, this was _the_ Temple. _Caelum_ was the political, economic, and spiritual heart of the Realm. When the High Priests needed to meet every decade, it was in the Temple of _Caelum_ that they met. When the King or Queen needed aid, he or she came to the High Priestess. She was the woman who was present at the birth of the royal children, at the coronations of the King and Queen, and the death of the priests and monarchs. The High Priestess, who made her home within the Temple, was one of the most powerful and influential women in the entirety of Vanaheim.

Saeunn opened one of the double doors, examining the engravings on the surface. Frigga had seen it many times as she passed the Temple to reach the market every other week and could see the image in her mind. She passed through the doors, more interested in what was on the inside. They had entered a long hall, each wall covered in a hand-woven tapestry. As she studied the image, two dark beings rising from the ashes of a fire, she realized they were telling the history of the Vanir.

Both sisters turned as the door opposite of them opened and an older man walked through.

"Lady Saeunn and Lady Frigga, I presume?"

Frigga's sister walked forward a step, "I am Saeunn. This is Frigga, my younger sister."

He nodded, "Very well. Each one of you will see the High Priestess separately. You are not to speak a word of what occurs within these halls, nor of what the High Priestess might say. The eldest will enter first."

Saeunn turned to look at her sister before following the man.

"Good luck!" Frigga called after her sister.

She watched as the door closed behind them, wondering whether her sister would be chosen. Personally, she didn't truly want to be tied down to Vanaheim. On her pilgrimage to the other Realms, she had seen many things that interested her. She wanted to see more. If she could, she would spend years on each of the Nine Realms and write down everything she learned. She would become a field scholar.

With little else to do, Frigga took another look at the tapestries. From what she had learned, the other Realms had a separate belief system on the dawning of time. While they believed the first creature was a Jotun named Ymir who grew from running water and sprouted children out of his appendages in the way a starfish grows new limbs, or some such nonsense, her people believed the Realms and everything within and beyond had been created by the Wise One. From ashes created by the fires of His heart, they had grown. It was why they had naturally dark skin and could change their forms.

The tapestries progressed to show when the Vanir lived within Asgard before giving it to the Æsir who had previously shared Midgard with the mortals. In fact, without the apples of Idunn's orchards, they would be mortal. The apples had been a gift from the Vanir as they left Asgard to find a new home. The next weaving was of the Jotuns attacking Vanaheim and the Wolves coming to their aid. The tapestries continued until they reached the coronation of the new king, Njord.

She stopped as she saw the rendition of the young King. She had only caught glimpses of Njord but he seemed far too somber for his age, but then he had just lost his father by Surtur's hand when he attempted to confront the demon about sending his minions into Vanaheim. Not to mention that his sister, Princess Nerthus, had run away to escape becoming Queen. Word had it that he was seeking a wife.

The doors opened once again as Saeunn and the man walked back out. Her sister nodded towards the man as if to say to follow him. Frigga swallowed her panic and walked after the man. They traveled down several more halls, some with tapestries, and others with gemstone pictures.

The man stopped before a thick, oak door, "I can go no further. You must continue on your own."

With that, he turned and walked back. Frigga hesitated at the door before knocking twice.

"Enter," a soft voice called.

She opened the door to reveal a relatively small room. She could smell the scent of incense burning and her sight was slightly obscured by the smoke which rose from several gleaming silver lattice pots and jars. A single window lay across the room, covered by closely woven bands of titanium. The High Priestess, a woman with silvering black hair and faint lines on her face, stood before it as she barely glanced out. Though Frigga could not be certain, there seemed to be a look of longing on the woman's face as if she had spent such an extended amount of time within the Temple that she dreamed of what lay beyond its metal walls.

Frigga dropped to her knees and bowed her head until her nose nearly touched the floor, her elbows resting next to her temples as she turned her palms upward. The customary prayer spoken before the High Priestess fell from her lips as if she had rehearsed the words since she was little. It was customary and, despite never having previously met the woman, knew the mantra word for word. As was expected, she felt a hand brush against her fingertips as a sign that she was allowed to stand once more.

"Frigga Fjorgvindottir, welcome to the Temple of Kings."

The woman's voice was hardly over a whisper and almost hoarse, causing Frigga to wonder if the High Priestess spoke often. It was the voice of a being who rarely found reason to speak aloud. With every passing minute, Frigga found the idea of becoming the woman's apprentice less and less desirable.

"Thank you, Lady Priestess," she replied. "It is an honor to be within the Temple."

"You may sit," the Priestess announced, gesturing towards a lone chair by the window.

Frigga did what she was told, unsure of what else to do. The Priestess smiled warmly at her, silver eyes wandering across her rigid position on the seat.

"There is no need for worry, Frigga. Everything will be well."

"What shall I call you?"

"Within this room, you may address me by my name: Jolin."

Frigga nodded, attempting to relax a little more under Jolin's gaze. She had not expected the Priestess to behave so informally, but it was somewhat of a relief. Then again, it could be a test to see how much discipline she could muster under pressure.

"Might I see your hand?" Jolin asked, holding out her own.

Frigga hesitantly placed her right hand on Jolin's, watching as the woman placed her other hand over it. Immediately, coils of cherry blossom pink smoke trailed from her fingers. Removing her left hand, the Priestess watched the tendrils of Frigga's aura as if she could read a story within the whorls.

"You have heart, Frigga," Jolin whispered. "It is rare to find a soul as untainted as your own. Take care, for it is simple work to break such a fragile state. And yet I see strength, as well. You will perceive many things others will be blind to."

Without warning, Jolin's eyes went blank and her thin fingers grasped Frigga's hand tightly. Her eyes widened in fear as she watched the older woman's face transform into a look of shock.

"Lady Priestess?" she whispered, too afraid to move her hand. "My Lady, are you feeling well?"

Jolin's eyes focused on Frigga's face once more, but the look of surprise and horror did not dissipate.

"A storm brews on the horizon, young Frigga," she breathed. "Such devastation, so many needless deaths, all for a mistake made by the pride of a man and the foolishness of a woman. And I fear you will find yourself at its core."

"What do you mean?"

Jolin shook her head, "These words are for those chosen to follow my path. Succeed in your test and I shall teach you to read the threads of time with little uncertainty. Come, for there is no time to lose with what awaits us."

The Priestess stood and made for the door, leaving a bemused Frigga behind. She sat by the window for a second more before standing and following Jolin. Despite the thought of her test awaiting her, she could not help but wonder at the foreboding words. She asked herself silently if she would truly find their meaning.

* * *

Njord stood pacing in his chambers, fighting the rising urge to hit his head against the smooth silver walls of the palace. Eiliff, one of the oldest men who served as his advisor, stood still as a mountain as he watched his king. It had barely passed a fortnight since his coronation and already troubles were arising. In all his years of studying his father's work, Njord had never realized how difficult diplomacy could be when dealing with the other Realms.

"Will you repeat why exactly King Borr is requesting I chase down a single couple in a kingdom of thousands?" he said irritably.

Eiliff glanced down at the letter once more, "King Borr claims this woman and man are responsible for the unjust murder of three Asgardian sailors. He requests that you locate them so a trial may be held."

"Absurdity," he declared. "Utter Æsir nonsensical logic! I have more important tasks to attend to then a manhunt for two people who will most likely be proven innocent. The treaty with Jotunheim is disintegrating and Borr asks the impossible of me."

"My King, I ask that you reconsider your words-"

"You believe this ridiculous claim is of greater importance?" Njord demanded, more exasperated than anything.

"No! I simply believe it would be wise to explain to King Borr what keeps you from acquiescing with his request."

"And have him name me weak for my troubles," he scoffed. "Borr is a warrior and will see holding back as a sign of weakness. I will not be called a coward simply because I have no time for an Asgardian's hot air."

"But, my King-"

"Eiliff, are you aware of how much sleep I have obtained in the past six days?"

"No, sire…"

"I have slept precisely eight hours in the last hundred and forty-four."

Eiliff swallowed heavily, "Perhaps we should speak of this at another time, Njord. Preferably when you have rested well and feel less pressured."

Njord shook his head angrily, "No, that will do no good. I have far too much to do in too little of time. I need to clean up the mess Father and Nerthus have left behind for me."

"Then shall I leave this letter for you to reply when time allows you?" Eiliff asked hopefully.

"Do not be daft, my friend. Reply to Borr, tell him that I have not time to entertain such irrational claims. Inform him that I will send word through Vanaheim to locate his couple, but I will not send them alone for a biased trial. If I am to send them to Asgard, I will also attend to ensure no lies are spread."

"Forgive me, but did you not say you have little time to waste? How do you plan to attend a trial in Asgard?"

"I do not."

Eiliff gaped at his king, "Then what point is there in giving King Borr contradicting statements? To show him you do not obey him with derisive words?"

"Precisely. Asgard believes itself the highest of the mighty, and this stokes the belief that they control the Realms. Vanaheim kneels to no outside power, and King Borr needs to remember this."

"Are you certain-"

"Eiliff, if I do not make it clear that I will not bend to the will of the Æsir, how will any of the other monarchs believe me equal to themselves?"

The advisor sighed in defeat, "As you wish, my King. Is there anything more I might aid you in?"

"No, but I thank you. All I need at the moment is quiet so that I may work through more of these troubles."

"I shall endeavor to make this the case," Eiliff replied with a bow. "Good day, my King."

Njord watched the man walk out with a tired smile. As he turned to face his desk once again, he groaned in disbelief. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the piles of parchment had grown during his conversation. He had much to do before the day was done.


End file.
